Iceberg (Dirk Pitt 3)

Rondheim passed the small automatic to one of the guards. "I must leave you for a moment, Major," he said dryly. "Please make yourself comfortable until I return. Perhaps you would care to loosen up your muscles. May I suggest the parallel bars."

With that he, laughed loudly and left the room.

Pitt stayed where he was on the floor and studied the two guards. One was a tall, ice-faced and hard-eyed giant nearly six feet four. The dark hair circling his prematurely bald head made him look like a monk, an illusion shattered by the semi-automatic rifle cradled in a pair of huge, hairy hands. He returned Pitts stare with a look that dared Pitt to try and escape, a possibility made one hundred percent hopeless by the second guard. He stood and filled up the door to the hallway, his shoulders coming within an inch of touching both sides of the vertical framework. Except for a big, red face, heavily moustached, he could have passed inspection with an army of apes. He let his rifle hang loosely in a hand that came nearly to his knees.

Five minutes passe-five minutes during which Pitt carefully planned his next move, five minutes in which the guard's hard eyes never left him. Then suddenly, the door on the far side of the gym opened and Rondheim walked in. He had changed from his dinner jacket into the white, loose-fitting attire of a karate disciple, clothing that Pitt knew was called a gi. Rondheim stood there for a moment, an assured, confident smile taut on his thin lips. Then he walked softly across the floor on bare feet and stepped onto the heavy mat, facing Pitt.

"Tell me, Major. Are you familiar with karate or Kung-Fu?"

Pitt uneasily eyed the narrow black belt that was knotted around Rondheim's waist and fervently prayed that the warm glow of the brandy would ease the beating he felt certain was coming. He simply shook his head.

"Perhaps judo?"

"No, I abhor physical violence."

"A pity. I had hoped for a more worthy opponent.

But it is no less than I suspected." He idly fingered the Japanese characters embroidered on his belt "I have my doubts about your masculinity, yet Kirsti thinks you are more manly than you act. We shall soon see."

Pitt forced back the hate and projected a quaver of fear. "Leave me alone; leave me alone!" His voice was highpitched now, almost a screech. "Why do you want to hurt me? I've done nothing to you." His mouth was working in short jerks from a contorted face. "I lied to you about blowing up your boat. I never saw it through the fog-I swear. You must believe-" The two guards looked at each other and exchanged sickened expressions, but Rondheim's face went far beyond mere revulsion-he looked positively nauseated.

"Enough!" he shouted commandingly. "Stop this drivel. I never believed for a moment you had the courage to attack and destroy my boat and crew."

Pitt stared wildly about him, a look of blind stupid terror in his eyes that might have been painted there.

72

"You have no reason to kill me. I'll tell no one anything. Please! You can trust me." He started to move toward Rondheim, his hands upturned, pleading.

"Stand where you are!"

Pitt froze. His planned act was working. He could only hope now that Rondheim would quickly tire of a victim who Put up no defense, no resistance at all.

"A major in the United States Air Force," Rondheim grimaced. "I'll wager you are nothing but a spineless homosexual who used your father's influence to acquire rank-the lowest form of vermin, living off Your own excretion. Soon you will know what it is to feel pain from the hands and feet of another man. A shame You will not enjoy the time to look back and reflect on,your most Punishing lesson in the art of selfdefense." Pitt stood there like a panic-frozen elk about to be brought down by the hounds. He stood there mumbling incoherently as Rondheim moved to the middle of the mat and assumed one of the many opening stances of Karate.

"No, wait-" Pitt choked the, words off in his throat, threw back his head and spun sideways in one convulsive movement. He had caught the tiny shift in Rondheim's eyes, the beginning of the lightning thrust as the Icelander came in with a reverse punch that connected on pitt's cheekbone, a half-solid blow that would have caused much more damage than a bruised swelling if Pitt hadn't rolled with the impact. He reeled back two steps and stood there as if stunned, swaying dazedly to and fro as Rondheim advanced slowly, the trace of a sadistic smile in the thin, chiseled features.

Pitt had made a mistake by ducking, had almost given himself away by revealing his quick reflexes. He had to fight to keep his mind turned on the rules. it wasn't easy. No normal man who knows how to take care of himself enjoys standing idle while being beaten to a pulp. He gritted his teeth and waited, holding his body low to absorb the blows from Rondheim's next attack.

He didn't wait but a few seconds.

Rondheim scored with a roundhouse kick to the head that rammed Pitt full in the face, knocking him off the mat against a row of horizontal exercise bars set into the wall. Pitt lay on the floor in silence, tasting the blood from his crushed lips and feeling his loosened teeth.

"Come, come, Major." Rondheim spoke soothingly, tauntingly. "Up on your feet. The lesson's barely begun."

Pitt pushed himself groggily to his feet and stumbled drunkenly onto the mat. The urge to counterpunch Rondheim was stronger than ever now, but he knew his only course was to play out his role.

Rondheim lost no time in working on him again. A quick combination of sledgehammer blows to the head that never seemed to end, followed by a front kick to the exposed rib area, and Pitt felt rather than heard one of his ribs snap. As if in slow motion, Pitt sunk to his knees and slowly slumped forward onto his face, so badly injured that blood and vomit mingled freely in his mouth and flowed onto the mat in an ever-widening pool. He didn't need a mirror to know he was being worked over fearfully, his face distorted in grotesque mutilation, both eyes rapidly closing, lips ballooned in a purplish mass of torn meat, one nostril of his nose split open.

The daggerlike pain in his chest and the agony of his torn face rose in giant waves and pounded him to the verge of blackness; yet he was surprised to find his mind was still functioning normally. Instead of allowing the painless oblivion of unconsciousness to swoop in, he willed himself to fake it, setting his teeth against a groan that would have given his deception away.

Rondheim was infuriated. "I'm not through with this slimy faggot." He motioned to one of the guards.

"Revive him."

The one with the bald head walked to a nearby bathroom, soaked a towel and none too gently wiped the blood from Pitts face and then compres

sed the now reddened cloth behind his neck. When Pitt didn't respond, the guard left again and returned with a small vial of smellin,-, salts.